


The Dinner That Wasn't

by misha_anon



Series: As Good As It Gets [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, M/M, Mad Men AU, PWP, Panties, Power Exchange, Power Imbalance, Sub Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-10
Updated: 2013-12-10
Packaged: 2018-01-04 05:37:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1077154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misha_anon/pseuds/misha_anon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Castiel meet for dinner.  A few whiskeys later, they give up on the idea since they'd both rather be doing something else. <i>Takes place the same day as "Hot Breakfast".</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dinner That Wasn't

**Author's Note:**

> _Still set in the Mad Men universe; still not a crossover because what is plot? XD_

“Good evening, Mr. Winchester,” Castiel says as he comes to a halt beside the empty chair.  He waits until Dean looks up from the folder in front of him to issue an invitation to sit down before pulling out the chair and taking a seat.  Dean smiles the easy smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes and makes the whiskey flush on his cheeks more prominent.

“Mr. Novak, I’m so pleased you could join me,” Dean replies, closing the folder and pushing it away.  “Would you care for a drink?”  Without waiting for an answer, he signals the waiter to bring two more glasses of whiskey.  Castiel might bristle at any other man presuming to order for him, but Dean Winchester isn’t just any man.

For one thing, he’s exquisitely skilled at the art of small talk.  Amid the dull roar of the restaurant’s other patrons; Dean coaxes Castiel into a lively discussion of the weather, then Sunday night’s football game, then whether woolen long coats are overkill even in the winter.  Castiel is hypnotized by the way Dean licks then purses his lips at every pause in his argument, the way his fingertip traces around the rim of his glass.  In his focus, it’s as though he and Dean have the restaurant to themselves.

Three drinks in, Castiel begins to squirm at the way Dean’s voice roughens, dipping and dropping on certain words as his carefully hidden midwestern accent begins to slip in.  Castiel struggles to be still, but the satin of his underwear seems to rub against him with every breath.  Dean continues the story of the client lunch he had over the weekend, his voice sliding lower as he watches his secretary squirm.

“Are you very hungry?”  Dean leans forward as he asks, cradling his nearly-empty whiskey glass, his smile giving away nothing.

“No, sir,” Castiel answers, licking his suddenly dry lips before catching the lower one between his teeth.  Dean nods slowly, finishes his whiskey in one slow drink, and returns his glass to the table in a deliberate motion.  Without a word, he pushes up from the table; the nonchalant touch of his fingers on Castiel’s shoulder as he brushes by send a shiver down his spine.  Caught off-guard by his boss’s sudden departure, Castiel scrambles to follow, grabbing the folder from the table.

If the constant stimulation of Castiel’s soft underwear makes the half-block walk to Dean’s apartment excruciating, the stairs are even worse.  By the time the two men reach the top of the short flight, Castiel is breathless, his cock so hard he can scarcely stand it.  They’re barely in the door before Dean grabs Castiel by the hips and pushes him back against it, the folder falling to the floor.

“I’ve been thinking about this all day,” Dean growls against Castiel’s throat, his nimble fingers already at work on the buttons of Castiel’s jacket. Emboldened by the confession, Castiel reaches up to press his palm to Dean’s neck, pulling him in for a kiss.  Their lips collide between panted breaths and half-formed moans as they pull desperately at the myriad buttons and zippers that keep them apart.

Castiel’s jacket and tie and dress shirt land in a heap just inside the door; two steps away, Dean’s jacket and tie decorate the floor.  Dean’s hips push insistently at Castiel’s as they move through the living room and down the hallway, serving only to drag their cocks together through the fabric of their slacks.  The slick slide of precome wetted satin over Castiel’s is as maddening as it has been all day, a constant reminder of his pink girl’s underwear and Dean’s reaction to them.

He grabs frantically at the buttons of Dean’s shirt, undeterred by the suddenness of his back coming into contact with the bedroom door.  When he tilts his head back to breathe, Dean presses wet kisses to his throat and drags bites over the curve of his jaw.  All the while he fucks against Castiel, rough thrusts that push the doorknob into his lower back and make him that much more frantic to feel skin.

Dean takes pity, finally, his hands closing over Castiel’s trembling fingers to finish unbuttoning his shirt.  When it falls to the floor and he presses forward again, their undershirts cling with sweat.  Castiel can’t stop the little whimpers that come at the end of every breath when Dean reaches between them to palm his erection through his slacks.  The almost gentle squeeze and release cause Castiel’s knees to shake while he tries to keep it together, waiting for permission to open the bedroom door.

When permission comes, the force of Dean’s weight sends Castiel stumbling backward through the doorway.  He follows, never losing contact with his secretary as they move toward the bed, lips locked in a renewed round of wet kisses.  When he breaks away from Castiel’s lips and sits down unceremoniously on the edge of the bed, his sudden absence and a little too much whiskey make Castiel’s head spin.  Castiel opens his eyes, struggling to catch his breath as he looks down at Dean.

“Let me see your underwear,  _Mr. Novak_ ,” Dean says quietly.  Castiel moves quickly to rid himself of his shoes and socks, fumbling at the button of his slacks as he stands back up.  It isn’t until he forces himself to take a deep breath and slow down that his hands stop shaking long enough for him to unbutton it.  His slacks fall to the floor and he steps out of the gray puddle of cloth, fingers toying with the hem of his undershirt. A quick nod from Dean and he pulls it off in one easy motion and drops it to the floor with the rest of his clothes.

Dean’s gaze travels slowly down Castiel’s body, leaving his cheeks burning hotter with each flick of glass green and each lick of plump lips.  Dean’s hunger is unmistakable, as is his seemingly endless reserve of self control.  By the time his eyes settle on the bulge of Castiel’s cock behind the delicate pink satin, Castiel is shivering and once more struggling not to squirm.

“Did you refrain from using the washroom as I asked?” Dean asks as he reaches out to trace a fingertip over the line of Castiel’s cock.  Castiel nods, unable to stop the reflexive jerk of his hips toward Dean’s touch.  When Dean’s fingers close around his erection and squeeze, Castiel licks his lips.  He knows what’s expected.

“Yes, sir,” he forces himself to answer.  His reward is the release of his overstimulated cock.

“What did it feel like; to sit in your own mess until it dried?”  Dean’s free hand is on Castiel’s hip, fingers curling around to dig into his ass and pull him closer.  Castiel swallows hard and looks up at the ceiling.  His cheeks burn hot when Dean’s warm breath moves over his stomach and he doesn’t even try to stop the moan of pleasure that bubbles up from the pit of his stomach at the renewed squeeze of Dean’s fingers around his shaft.

“Dirty,” he groans.  The words, now that they’ve started, don’t stop.  “Filthy and wrong.  Every time I moved, I could feel your hands on me all over again.  I felt like everyone..  everyone knew.  They all looked at me like they knew I was wearing girl’s underwear and they knew you had your way with me and they knew..  they knew that..”

“That what, Castiel?”  Dean prompts gently when he goes silent, fingertips snaking up Castiel’s torso, pausing to flick at one hard nipple.  When fingers curl over the top of Castiel’s shoulder and tug, he allows himself to be pulled easily to his knees between Dean’s legs.

He strokes through Castiel’s hair with one hand, a reassuring point of contact as he struggles to find the words to finish his sentence.  It isn’t until those fingers twist in his hair, pulling Castiel’s eyes up to meet Dean’s that he finds the ones he needs.

“They knew it’s what I wanted,” Castiel answers, his voice cracking.

Dean pulls Castiel’s head forward with a growl.  While Castiel wasn’t looking, he’d managed to pull his thick cock from his slacks and underwear, a sight that makes Castiel’s jaw tighten with anticipation.  He doesn’t have long to wait.  Dean continues to twist and pull his hair until he opens his mouth eagerly, growling in return at the first bitter drop of precome on his tongue.  Castiel lets Dean control the pace, his body softening as he slides further and further down.

“Good.  That’s good,” Dean coos, thrusting his hips up until the head of his cock nudges at Castiel’s throat.  Castiel raises his hands to Dean’s muscular thighs, bracing himself to suck harder, head bobbing quickly up and down.  Dean’s voice is choked when he adds, “Get me good and wet so I can fuck you.”

The unaccustomed curse in Dean’s sex-roughed voice sends Castiel into a frenzy.  Dean leans back when Castiel’s hands slide to his hips, holding on tightly while he sucks.  Precome and spit leak down Castiel’s chin as he twists his head this way and that, forcing Dean’s cock into his gagging throat. 

“Look at you on your knees in your pink girl’s underwear,” Dean pants as he pulls Castiel’s hair so hard it brings tears to his eyes.  His whole body is twitching when he pulls Castiel off with a lewd pop and forces him to meet his gaze.  Dean’s face is flushed and sweaty as he untangles his fingers and relieves himself of the rest of his clothing, talking the whole time.  “You’re so  _pretty_  like that, red-faced and shivering while you think about what’s yet to come. I’ve never seen a man who wants it the way you do and wasn’t ashamed.  You’re not ashamed, are you?”

Before Castiel can answer, Dean is guiding him onto the bed on his hands and knees.  His body convulses with need and anticipation, the pink satin underwear still caressing his skin; a feeling so natural that he only notices when he hears his underwear ripping, the waistband cutting into his hip as Dean yanks at the crotch.  Half a second later, Dean’s fingers, coated with Vaseline are pressing at his hole.

“I asked you a question, Castiel,” he warns, pushing two fingers into Castiel’s ass.  It’s too much, too fast, a burn that makes Castiel cry out, his arms giving way as his shoulders drop to the bed.  Dean’s free hand presses to the small of Castiel’s back, soothing pressure as he works his fingers in and out, twisting to open Castiel up.

“I’m not.  I’m not ashamed of wanting this,” Castiel finally answers, barely coherent as the overwhelming burn gives way to the pleasurable slide of Dean’s fingers in a steady rhythm.  Castiel reaches back to spread himself the way he knows Dean prefers, panting as his cheek rubs against the rough blanket.  Dean’s fingers move faster, more insistently when he adds a whispered, “Not with you.”

Castiel falls into a haze of misfiring nerves as Dean slips another finger into his ass, still twisting and separating them as he readies his secretary to take his cock.  When he bumps against the sweet spot that forces all the breath from Castiel’s lungs in a cry of pleasure, he grinds his fingertips against it until Castiel is near tears with need.

“Please,” he whines, voice thready and rough.  “I’m ready.  You’ve been waiting..   _we’ve_  been waiting all day..  please,  _Dean_ , please do it now..”

Dean’s fingers slide slowly out of Castiel’s ass, leaving his stomach clenching with the need for more.  His boss is far from gentle when he presses the head of his cock against Castiel’s hole.  He reaches forward, grabbing a handful of Castiel’s hair to keep him from sliding forward when he shoves his hips forward and buries himself.  His cock is long and thick and Castiel feels for all the world like he’s being torn in half; head pulled back until his spine dips low.

He releases his ass cheeks, scrabbling at the blanket for purchase as Dean pounds into him mercilessly.  Castiel knows the pain will give way to pleasure, thankful Dean had the presence of mind to slick his cock with Vaseline, he just has to hold on until then. Dean’s thrusts are short, his hips twisting as he pushes deeper into Castiel, filling him in a way no one else ever has.

Dean releases Castiel’s hair and leans forward, wrapping his forearm around his shoulders instead, his bare chest molded to Castiel’s sweaty back.  The change of angle shortens his thrusts and forces his cock to brush against that same sweet spot that sets Castiel’s nerves on end. The pressure of Dean’s arm at the base of Castiel’s throat makes him lightheaded, though not for lack of oxygen.  

As they pant together, bodies grinding with each of Dean’s thrusts met by a roll of Castiel’s hips, Dean growls in his ear, “Touch yourself.  Use your pretty pink underwear to stroke your cock, Castiel.”

Castiel whimpers, the heat of Dean’s breath over the curve of his ear doing more to spur him on than any words.  He reaches down to wrap the torn fabric around his cock, so hard it’s like fisting an iron rod.  It doesn’t take much with wet satin gliding on his over sensitized skin before he’s writhing on the end of Dean’s cock, fighting for every breath under the press of Dean’s weight.

“Say it,” Dean coaxes, moaning as Castiel’s ass clenches around his cock.  Castiel feels the way he hardens, his thrusts deep and erratic as his arm slides up to press against Castiel’s windpipe.  It’s hard to breathe, harder to speak as Castiel tries to pull himself together.  He knows what Dean wants to hear, knows he won’t get to come until Dean hears it.

“I’m yours,” he gasps when Dean releases the momentary pressure, pulling his face around to share an awkward kiss instead.  “All yours,  _only_  yours.”

Dean groans, his hips grinding forward and pushing Castiel’s cock into his own fist and the wrapping satin.  The delicate scrape sends Castiel toppling over the edge of orgasm, rope after sticky rope of come slicking his twitching belly and his hand.  Dean’s cock fattens and soon Castiel feels the hot wetness of come filling his ass.

“Mine,” Dean growls, pressing their lips together again in a searing kiss as he fucks every drop of come deep into Castiel.  “Only  _mine_.”

Castiel pulls back enough to take a breath only for Dean to follow, tongue teasing against his lips before dipping into his mouth again.  They collapse into a quivering heap on the bed, the tiny oxygen gain Castiel made forced back out as they share a ragged breath back and forth between desperately needy kisses and bites.  Dean shifts finally, his softened cock sliding from Castiel’s ass with a flood of come that makes them both shiver.

In the hazy afterglow, Dean is tender.  He turns Castiel gently, holds him near.  Castiel closes his eyes, sore and sated as his boss kisses his temples in turn, lays a flurry of kisses across his forehead and down his nose.  He’s safe here, loved even; it doesn’t matter that Dean never says it, Castiel knows.

“You were so good,” Dean murmurs against the still-flushed skin of Castiel’s cheek.  “So, so good.”

Castiel smiles and nuzzles against Dean’s cheek, pressing closer into his body.  They’ll rest like this, perhaps dozing for a while before Castiel will have to shower and get dressed and take the subway home.  He slips his legs between Dean’s, tangling them together in a way he finds comforting.  When he opens his eyes, Dean is watching him through half-lidded green eyes, a smile on his lips, too.  Castiel knows Dean wishes it could be different as much as he does, but what they have is as good as it gets.


End file.
